The First Cut
by chazper
Summary: A future fic oneshot.  Ryan and Sophie fluff.  Characters courtesy of Josh & company.


**The First Cut **

A sharp, stuttering cry shattered the stillness of the August afternoon. It spilled through the open windows into the Cohen living room, interrupting Kirsten's and Sandy's lazy game of Scrabble.

"Uh-oh," Sandy observed mildly. "Sounds like Sophie has gotten upset. Ryan must have told her he didn't need her help planting those new bushes after all . . . Did you give me points for my double word, sweetheart? Because I can't still be this far behind you."

"Yes, you can. I played all my letters last time, remember?"

Sandy pushed the scorecard away and arranged his new tiles on the stand in front of him. "I still say intrados isn't a word," he muttered, his brows furrowed with mock resentment.

"Well, you didn't challenge me," Kirsten reminded him. "And if you had, you would have lost. It means the inner curve of an arch. I learned something working with architects all those years." With a sly smile, she added "circum" in front of Sandy's word "stance," covering a triple word square in the process. "Fifty-eight points," she announced.

"Oh, that does it, lady! I'm playing for keeps now. I've got the z here and I know how to use it--"

The wails outside continued, mounting in volume and shrill intensity. They seemed to come closer and Kirsten looked up sharply, holding up a finger to shush her husband. "That doesn't sound like a temper tantrum, Sandy," she noted anxiously. Pushing back her chair, she rushed toward the back door. "Something is wrong."

Sandy followed, arriving just in time to see Ryan stumble inside with Sophie cradled against his chest. Her arms were coiled stranglehold tight around his neck and her face was buried under his chin, but nothing muffled the anguish of her sobs.

"What on earth--?" Kirsten asked. She reached for her daughter, but Sophie just clung closer to Ryan. Her whole body shook with raw, fractured breaths.

With an effort, Ryan peeled Sophie's limbs loose from his body and turned her toward Kirsten. "Go to Mom, okay, Chicklet?" he urged. His own voice sounded choked, as though the child's grip had sealed all the air in his throat.

"Sophie--?" Kirsten began, and then gasped as she caught sight of Sophie's blood-smeared hands. "Oh my god!—Sandy, get the first aid kit! Sweetie, what happened?"

"I, I, I hurted--!" Sophie reached back plaintively toward Ryan. He shook his head, and the rest of her words disappeared in a fresh torrent of tears.

"Where?" Frantic, Kirsten searched her daughter's limbs, despite Sophie's attempts to squirm out of her arms. At the same time Sandy raced back from the bathroom, holding a wet washcloth and already pulling antiseptic and bandages from a blue plastic container. "Ryan, where is she hurt? I don't see any cuts anywhere."

Sophie kicked against Kirsten, her face crimson with incoherent rage. "Not me, Mommy! I hurted Wyan!"

"Ryan?"

Bewildered, both Kirsten and Sandy spun around to face him. Ryan shrugged slightly. Licking his dry lips, he braced himself with one hand clutching the kitchen table.

"Sophie. She was--" he began unsteadily.

"I'm sowwy, Wyan! I dinnit mean to!" Sophie cried. "I was just, I was just . . . 'pinnin'!"

"Kid?" Sandy's eyes narrowed with concern. "What's Sophie talking about? Are you hurt?"

Ryan shook his head, a terse, painful movement that didn't look like denial. "I'm sorry, Kirsten," he murmured. "I should have been watching her. But I was checking the soil by the fence and I had my back turned. Sophie must have picked up the trowel--"

"I was 'pinnin'!" Sophie repeated urgently. "An' the twowel fwew away, an' it pokeded Wyan! Weal, weal hard!"

"Ryan, show me," Kirsten ordered. When he didn't move at once she added sternly, "Right now, young man."

Still gripping the edge of the table, Ryan turned around reluctantly. At the nape of his neck, a livid red line ripped with almost surgical precision from an oozing puncture wound. It extended to his shoulder, finally disappearing under the strap of his wifebeater. Below the gash, his back was smeared with mingled blood, dirt, and sweat from Sophie's desperate embrace.

Ryan peered back at the Cohens hopefully. "It's not bad," he insisted. "Just a scratch, right?"

In one movement, Kirsten handed their daughter to Sandy and pulled out a kitchen chair. "Sit down, Ryan," she urged, all severity gone from her voice. Placing her hands gently on his upper arms, she guided him toward the seat.

With a relieved sigh, Ryan sank onto the chair and leaned forward. He crossed his arms on the table and bowed his head into them as Kirsten inspected the cut anxiously.

Her eyes wide and fearful, Sophie watched from the shelter of Sandy's arms. "Wyan?" she asked plaintively. "Does it hurt a weally lot?"

"Naw," Ryan claimed. Then he hissed as Kirsten began to swab the wound with a wet washcloth. "Just a little, little bit," he amended.

Sophie's lips trembled. "I'm sowwy!" she wailed, plunging her tear-streaked face into her father's chest. "I dinnit mean to! Mommy, fix Wyan, please!"

"Sophie Rose, we know you didn't mean to hurt Ryan," Sandy said sternly. He pried his daughter's head up, forcing her to look at him. "But how many times have we told you that sharp things are only for grown-ups and that you never, never run with them?"

"But Daddy, I am gwown up! I'm four!" Sophie argued. "An' I wasn't wunning. I was 'pinning!"

"Pinning?" Sandy repeated, baffled. "Sophie, what are you talking about?"

Ryan angled his face upward slightly so that he could see them. "Spinning," he explained. "You know how she likes to twirl around until she gets so dizzy that she collapses? I guess she was holding the trowel--"

"An' it fwew away and hurted Wyan! 'Toopid twowel! I hate it!"

"I'm sorry," Ryan sighed, settling back down again as Kirsten washed smears of blood off of his back. "It was my fault. I should have been watching what she was doing."

"You can't watch her every moment, Ryan. None of us can," Kirsten replied. Absently, she stroked his hair, her fingers light and reassuring. "That's why Sophie has to learn to follow the rules."

"But she could have been hurt."

"Sophie is fine, Ryan."

Swiveling around in Sandy's arms, Sophie nodded eagerly. "I'm fine, Wyan," she echoed.

"You're the one I'm worried about," Kirsten said. She frowned at the angry line of the wound, murmuring uneasily, "There's just so much dirt. Sandy, could you bring me a clean, wet washcloth, please?"

Sandy deposited his daughter on the nearest chair. "Do not let me see you move, young lady," he warned as he crossed to the sink.

Sophie crossed her heart solemnly, but as soon as her father's back was turned, she slid off the her seat and crawled under the table to Ryan. He felt her arms twine around his leg and her small, sharp chin press into his knee.

"Wyan?" she whispered. "I'm sowwy."

"Aw, Chicklet, I know." Blindly, Ryan groped down until his palm brushed the downy top of Sophie's head. She nestled closer, planting a damp kisses through a hole in his jeans. "It's okay. It was an accident."

"Sophie Rose!"

At the sound of Sandy's bellow, Sophie released Ryan and scurried back to her seat. Folding her hands demurely, she flashed an angelic smile at her scowling father.

"I thought I told you not to move."

"No, Daddy!" she protested. "You said you dint wanna see me, and you dint, 'cause I was unner the table!"

Ryan buried his face in his arms to stifle his automatic chuckle, but Kirsten heard it anyway. She tapped his cheek lightly, the gesture a small, soft reproach. "Don't encourage her, Ryan," she admonished. Her brows puckered with concern, she dabbed antiseptic into the still-seeping gash. "And I wish you hadn't carried her into the house. Her hands are filthy, and she ground so much dirt into the wound--"

"Dey're not filthy, Mommy!" Sophie objected. To prove it, she waved her hands in the air. They fluttered to a stop as she stared at them in surprise. "Oh! Dey are!"

"That's right, oh, they are." Wetting another washcloth, Sandy handed it to his daughter. "Wash. Now," he ordered. Then he bent over to inspect Ryan's neck. "Damn, kid," he observed, with a slow, rueful whistle. "I can't believe our Sophie did that much damage."

Ryan winced as Kirsten squirted more antiseptic into the point of impact. "Must have had a lot of . . . velocity," he suggested. "She can—ow—spin really fast."

Across the table, Sophie had been scrubbing her hands dramatically, but she stopped to point an accusing finger. "Dad-dy!" she sang. "You said a bad word! 'Pologize!"

Ignoring her, Sandy reached down to knead Ryan's shoulder. "At least it wasn't your face, huh?" he observed. "Maybe it's a good thing your back was turned."

"Daddy!" Sophie insisted, but she was interrupted by the sound of the front door slamming.

"Family! I'm back!" Seth caroled from the living room. "I've got pizza, I've got sushi, I've got fresh chicken-mango-walnut salad in a playful vinaigrette. Who's hungry?" At the entrance to the kitchen, he paused, juggling the bags he was carrying and goggling at the scene in front of him. "Or maybe I should ask, who's down for the count. Ryan? What happened, man?"

Immediately Sophie's eyes welled with renewed tears. "I hurted him!" she sniffled. "But I'm weally, weally, sowwy!"

Seth dropped his packages, leaning over as Kirsten patted the wound with another clean cloth. "Damn!" he breathed. "Good thing the guillotine jammed at the last minute."

"Now you said a bad word, Seff!"

"What? Oh, right. Sorry, Sophie." Seth waved a vague apology. "So, seriously, what happened here?"

Ryan shifted uncomfortably. "I left a trowel lying around," he explained, darting a cautionary look up at Seth. "Sophie got hold of it and she was twirling around and--"

"Whoa! You mean Chicklet over there really did take you down? Dude, she almost cut off your head!"

"Seth--" Ryan warned, but he was interrupted by a howl of rage from across the table.

"Don' you call me dat, Seff!" Scowling fiercely, Sophie clambered up to stand on her chair and folded her arms across her chest. "You're not 'lowed. Only Wyan's 'lowed to call me Chicklet!"

Seth raised his hands in surrender. "Oops, sorry, Nannette," he corrected, substituting his own nickname for Sophie. Inspired by her bright, inquisitive gaze and her feathery cap of yellow-blond hair Ryan had started to call their sister Chicklet shortly after she was born, but Seth didn't christen her "Nanette" until almost three years later. The term was in lieu of "The Little Nana", whom Seth insisted that Sophie resembled in her suffer-no-fools temperament, if not in looks.

"Seriously," he'd confessed to Ryan after Sophie, her whole body quivering with righteous fury, railed at him for cheating at Candy Land. "The munchkin is barely three feet tall, but she scares me sometimes."

Sophie loved both nicknames, but she was very precise about who was permitted to use each one. Now she fumed at Seth, bobbing her chin in a quick, stern nod. "Dat's better," she announced, as she sat down again. Almost instantly, her expression changed. "An' I dint almost cut off Wyan's head eeder!" Her mouth trembling, she stretched her arms across the table, trying to pat Ryan's hair. "Did I, Wyan?" she entreated.

"No, Chicklet, of course you didn't." Ryan stroked her hand. "Seth was just kidding, weren't you Seth?" He peered up, his eyes dark with scalding admonition.

Seth hopped out of range, just in case. "What? Oh. Oh, yeah, Sophie. Ryan's got a really hard head. You could never cut it off. I was just joking." Seth dimpled, but his sister just glared back at him.

"You're not punny, Seff."

"Hear that, son?" Sandy chortled. "You're not punny."

Oblivious to her family's antics, Kirsten applied a last dose of antiseptic to the deepest point of Ryan's wound, frowned at it critically, and then picked up a butterfly bandage. Her cool, careful fingers smoothed it into place and he glanced back at her hopefully.

"All done?"

Kirsten rubbed his shoulder, sighing. "I don't know, sweetie," she murmured. "I really think we should have a doctor check out that gash. There was just so much dirt. I'm afraid that I may not have cleaned it out properly, and besides, the cut is deep where the trowel hit you. I'm afraid you may need a few stitches."

Ryan grimaced. Sitting up, he sighed with resignation, but before he could say anything Sophie erupted.

"'Titches?" She reeled back, rigid with alarm. "Wif a _needle _, like when you fixed Patty 'Potomous? Mommy, no! You can't sew up Wyan!"

"Mommy's not going to do that," Sandy promised, scooping up his terrified daughter. "But we'll take Ryan to a doctor, okay? If the doctor thinks it will make Ryan better, he may—just may, sweetheart—put in some really tiny stitches. It won't hurt Ryan though."

"It will! Needles _hurt _!"

"Sophie Rose, settle down. The doctor will give Ryan some special medicine so that he won't feel a thing."

Inconsolable, Sophie shook her head. "Yes, he will," she insisted, sniffling. "It'll 'tick. Wyan--?"

"You know what, Chicklet?" Ryan opened his arms and Sophie immediately struggled down from her father to climb onto his lap. "I've had stitches before."

Sophie widened her eyes, equally awed and horrified. "You _have _? Where?"

"Yeah, Ryan," Seth prompted. Settling himself comfortably at the table, he propped his chin on his cupped hands and leaned forward. "Do tell. Where? And why did you have to get them anyway?"

Ryan pointed to a spot above his lip and another near his eyebrow. "Here," he said. "And here." Sotto voce, he muttered to Seth, "And why is so not the point, dude."

"Oooh," Sophie breathed. Very carefully, she touched each scar with the tip of her index finger. "Did the needle hurt a weally lot, Wyan?"

"Not a bit." He ducked his head to kiss her nose and Sophie giggled, delighted. "And it won't hurt this time either."

'Pwomise?"

Crossing his heart, Ryan nodded solemnly. "Promise."

Sophie pursed her mouth, considering. "Okay," she announced at last. "Den you can get 'titches, Wyan. I'll 'low it."

"You'll allow it!" Chuckling wryly, Sandy swung his daughter off Ryan's lap and back to her feet. "You think Ryan needs your permission, Peanut?"

"Uh-huh," Sophie said, with blithe confidence. She tugged Ryan's hand, trying to pull him upright.

Before he stood up, Kirsten folded a clean towel and draped it carefully across Ryan's neck. "To cushion it in the car," she explained. "Seth, put the sushi and salad away. Ryan and I will eat when we get home. Sophie, I expect you to take a bath while we're gone and--"

"No! I wanna go wif you and Wyan!"

Kirsten sighed, pushing a strand of hair off of her face. "Sophie, sweetheart," she explained wearily, "Ryan doesn't need you at the hospital. And I don't want to have to keep an eye on you--"

"Daddy?" Sophie whirled around to clutch her father's sleeve. "You come wif us, okay? You can keep _two _eyes on me."

Sandy looked at his daughter's beseeching face and then over at the rest of his family. Kirsten was shaking her head, but Seth was grinning indulgently, and Ryan was biting his lip to stifle his laughter.

"Let her come," he mouthed silently.

"Okay, fine," Sandy conceded. "I'll come along to keep two eyes on you, Sophie Rose. Plus the ones in the back of my head. But if Ryan has to get stitches, you are not going to watch." Sophie's lower lip jutted out, and he added hastily, "Mommy will stay with him to make sure that it doesn't hurt."

Ryan frowned. "Sandy, Kirsten doesn't have to--"

"Yes, I do, Ryan," Kirsten insisted. "I want to." Grabbing her purse from the sideboard, she pulled out her car keys. "All right then, let's go. Seth, we shouldn't be very long, but we'll call you if--"

"Whoa! Hold up there, Mom! You think I'm going to stay home with only congealing food for company while the four of you go off without me? No, and no, and I repeat, also? No. Besides, Ryan might need me. We O negative guys have to stick together, remember?" Wheeling around, Seth shoved the bags of take-out food into the refrigerator and then circled back to face his family. "I'm coming too," he announced. With scrupulous care, he draped Ryan's arm across his shoulders, clasped his waist, and began to urge him toward the front door. "Okay buddy, be careful. One step at a time."

"I can walk, Seth," Ryan protested.

"Of course you can," Seth agreed solicitously. "You're such a brave little soldier. Sophie, you want to help me walk Ryan to the car?"

"Uh-huh! Seff and I will help you walk, Wyan!" Skipping to Ryan's other side, Sophie grabbed his hand, beaming up at him with such anxious adoration that all Ryan could do was smile back down at her.

"Our kids," Sandy observed, as he and Kirsten trailed behind. "Just gotta love 'em, sweetheart."

Kirsten reached out to position the towel more securely across Ryan's neck. "Yes," she murmured as he glanced back at her gratefully. "We certainly do."

Ryan woke to the sound of soft, wordless humming and a faint tickling sensation as small fingers traced circles on his palm. He smiled and opened his eyes, expecting to see Sophie watching him. Instead he found himself staring into the gaping mouth of her plush crimson dragon, Freddie. The toy was wedged in the crook of his elbow, and as Ryan slowly focused, he realized that Freddie wasn't alone. Sophie had crammed all of her favorite stuffed animals onto his pillow and under the blanket, cocooning Ryan with cats, puppies, dinosaurs, unicorns, and one threadbare, well-hugged dolphin.

"Chicklet?" he asked, trying to peer through the thicket of fake fur. "Where are you?"

Sophie's head bobbed up as she clambered to her knees on the floor. "Wyan?" she whispered. "You 'wake?"

"Uh-huh." Carefully, so she wouldn't think he was rejecting her gifts, Ryan swept the crowd of toys out of his way. "What are you doing down there?"

"Bein' quiet. Mommy said I could stay here but I'm not 'lowed to get in bed wif you. An' Daddy said be quiet an' don't wake you up. An' Seff said I'm a menace." She frowned, her mouth pursing thoughtfully. "What's a menace, Wyan?"

Ryan's lips twitched at the question before they settled into a smile of invitation. He patted the comforter beside him. "You can come up here now."

"Weally?" Sophie's eyes sparkled, but she still hesitated.

"Really. I'll tell Daddy I said it was all right."

Eagerly, Sophie climbed onto the bed, scooting over until she could lay down with her head cradled in the spot where Freddie had been. Silky strands of her hair spread across Ryan's arm, and he tucked them back gently.

"Wyan? What's a menace?"

"Oh." Ryan frowned. "You still want to know that?"

Sophie nodded vigorously into his elbow, her sweet, berry-scented breath warm against his skin.

"Well, let's see. A menace is someone who is very, um, very energetic. But people don't always expect what she's going to do, so sometimes they have to get out of her way, and if they don't there could be an accident."

"Hmm." Sophie sucked in her lower lip, considering. "Den I guess Seff's right. I am a menace." Nestling closer, she looped one arm around Ryan's neck to pat the dressing that covered his stitches. "Wyan? Does it still hurt a weally lot?"

Ryan rubbed his nose against hers until she giggled happily. "Nope," he assured her. "Doesn't hurt one little bit."

"Wyan?" Sophie lowered her voice to a whisper. "Know what?"

"What, Chicklet?"

"When Mommy and Daddy went out, I put one of my Spongebob band-aids right—there!" With her thumb, Sophie triumphantly touched a spot near the center of the bandage.

"Really? You did?" With a furtive grin, Ryan dropped his voice to the same confidential pitch as hers. "Know what?"

"What, Wyan?"

"That's the place that feels the very best of all," he declared solemnly. "Spongebob must be magic."

"Weally?" Sophie's entire face shone with delight. "I weally made you not hurt, Wyan?"

Ryan brushed her tangled bangs back so he could kiss her forehead. "You really did, Chicklet."

"I wuv you, Wyan!" Sophie tightened her embrace, squeezing him so enthusiastically that Ryan had to stifle an involuntary wince. "An' no more wunning _or _'pinning wif sharp objects, I pwomise!" Then she pulled back to peer at Ryan, her blue eyes clouded with uncertainty. "You wuv me too, wight? You're not mad at me for making you hurt?"

Ryan shook his head, smiling reassurance. "I was never mad at you, Sophie. Not for one minute," he replied earnestly. "And I will never, ever stop loving you."

"Dat's good." Sophie sighed, content. Holding onto Ryan's thumb, she rolled over and curled, warm and comfortable, against his side. "I'll nevah, eva stop wuvving you eeder," she declared drowsily.

Minutes later, as the shadows lengthened in Ryan's room and he began to drift back to sleep, he heard a fierce, dreamy whisper.

"But I hate that damn twowel!"

FIN


End file.
